I've Got Your Back, Now and Always
by angelgirlsko12
Summary: Riza thought she knew every one of Roy's codes. But not this one. "Wrapped up in Paperwork". A collection of Royai stories started during Royai Week 2015. (3/?)
1. Chapter 1

**To Die, to Sleep**

 _She didn't die that day, but the night tells her otherwise. And—apparently—she's not the only one._

(A/N: Hi, everyone! This is my first Royai fic—I only recently watched FMA/FMA:B and thought I was too late for the fandom. Glad there's still active Royai shippers around. Also, I promise this fic is not as depressing as the title/summary implies)

* * *

Riza always held a cynical sense of relief in the thought that if Roy died first, she'd follow soon after. Yet the thought of dying herself—and leaving him behind—was more than she could bear. He had too much on the line—he couldn't die—and yet, it was quite possible he would end up destroying himself.

The look in his eyes as she lay there, dying, was one of a man on the edge of his sanity. It was a look that meant he was willing to throw away anything and everything they had been striving for all these years; eyes full of despair and devoid of hope.

 _Lieutenant! Lieutenant, stay with me!_

 _PLEASE!_

 _LIEUTENANT!_

And then she _did_ die—and as she drew her last breath and her eyes slowly closed, she jerked awake, mind racing as she screamed protests against her fate and reaching for a body that wasn't there.

 _Colonel. Roy. ROY._

Once the initial panic had worn off, she closed her eyes and sighed, allowing her breathing to return to a regular pace. Roy was fine. He was probably sound asleep at home, catching up on all the hours he had lost over the last few years. They were both alive. There weren't any imminent threat looming on the horizon. Everything was going to be fine.

She jumped when the phone abruptly broke the silence, her heart rate picking up yet again. Breathing a sigh of relief, she let it ring a few more times before she answered, knowing full well who it was.

"Hello, Colonel."

"Lieutenant? What are you still doing up?"

She paused, allowing herself a small smile as she let the stupidity of that question sink in. After all, _he_ was the one calling. "I could ask you the same, sir."

There was silence on the other end. Riza heard his breath catch, and his voice quivered as he spoke. "Just…couldn't sleep."

Her brows furrowed in concern. "Is everything alright, Colonel?"

She heard him breath a sigh of relief, and—was that a sniffle she heard? "It is now, Lieutenant."

Riza said nothing, and they sank into a comfortable silence, listening to the faint sound of each other's breathing. When it was apparent he had calmed down and relaxed, she finally responded. "That's good to hear. I expect to see you bright and early tomorrow morning then."

"…of course." He chuckled softly.

"Thank you for calling, sir." She smiled into the receiver. "Really."

"Anything for my favorite Lieutenant," he replied somewhat teasingly.

"Whatever you say, Colonel."

He yawned on the other end. "Sweet dreams, Riza."

"Same to you. Goodnight…Roy."

She hung up before he could comment on how she'd called him Roy—ROY—when she typically avoided addressing him as such.

 _He always has such good timing…_

She settled back into bed and closed her eyes.

Sleep came easily.


	2. Chapter 2

**Check Mate**

 _He can't see her, and he just wants to know for certain that she's okay._

 _(A/N: Not sure how I feel about this one...it was an attempt at the prompt "skin" for Royai week. I think I was trying to keep it appropriate...)_

* * *

This had become somewhat of a routine.

It was another late night at the hospital. The two of them should have been sleeping—recovering—but they were coincidentally both wide awake. It was on nights like these when the Colonel's newly acquired blindness got to him the most. He hadn't quite gotten used to it yet; this constant nothingness. It made him feel much more— _ugh_ —useless than usual. Despite his tendency to nap during the workday, he had never particularly enjoyed sleep—there was _so much_ he could do with the time he spent sleeping. He wasn't sure which was worse, the mindlessness of sleep, or this new darkness in which he was conscious of what he _would_ be doing, but couldn't.

Many "would be" actions involving Hawkeye.

It bothered him more than he wanted to admit. He missed seeing her, so whenever they were up late into the night and no one else was around, she would sit on the edge of his bed and allow him to hold her hand, or her forearm, to reassure himself of her presence. Sometimes they talked, and sometimes not—the silence between them had always been more meaningful than spoken words.

On this particular night, the Colonel was acting particularly attached to his second-in-command, and insisted he "ensure that she was physically unharmed in her entirety". After much hesitation, she finally relented.

That was more or less how Roy had ended up with his shirtless lieutenant sitting next to him, waiting for him to touch her.

… _God, that sounded wrong._ What was he supposed to do, though, when he had been deprived of his sight? How else could he be certain she was okay? That was how he rationalized his actions, anyways. And it wasn't like he hadn't seen her like this before—granted it had been under much more…trying circumstances. This time, he wanted to make sure she hadn't acquired any new scars from the Hell they'd been through; scars that he himself had not given her.

He started with her face, fingers gently alighting over her eyebrows and eyelids, the shape of her nose, the contours of her cheeks. He thumbed the outline of her lips, and fought the sudden urge he had to kiss them. He really had to ask himself—were his motives for this as pure as he had indicated? Feeling along her jawline, his touch ended up on her chin, then snaked lower to feel the bandage around her neck.

 _Another scar_ , he thought, pausing. If he hadn't made it so—so _obvious_ what Hawkeye meant to him, then maybe—

"Colonel, don't do this to yourself. It's not your fault."

Gently, she removed his hands from her neck and put them on her broad shoulders, which, to his relief, remained unmarred save for the healing remains of a cut on the left side. He quickly ran his fingers down the length of her back—he knew there were scars there, it was engraved into his memory—breathing a sigh of relief when he found nothing new.

His hands slowly made their way to her front, at which point she slapped them away—but not before he heard her breath catch. "Watch where you're touching, sir. I know you want reassurance, but keep this appropriate nonetheless."

Roy winced. "Sorry." _Perhaps one day…_

 _Though really, was this—whatever this was—really appropriate in the first place?_

Unfazed, he continued to her stomach, feeling her flinch at his touch. "What's wrong?"

"N-nothing, sir." He could hear the smile on her lips. Roy continued his trek around her waist, enjoying the delicate way it curved against his palms, but stopped again when his lieutenant attempted to choke back her laughter.

Was Hawkeye… _ticklish?_

He decided he wasn't curious enough to find out—for the time being, at least—and instead moved lower to her thighs (avoiding areas which, he assumed, would earn him much worse than a slap on the wrist). Roy had always been a leg man, and he decided it was a shame— _really_ , _truly, a shame_ —that he would never be able to see the Lieutenant in a miniskirt. This was a nice alternative, though. Hawkeye had rolled the loose fitting hospital pants up, and guided his hands underneath them. Her legs were smooth, save for a few patches of skin where she had evidently suffered some minor scrapes. She didn't so much as flinch when he ran his fingers over them, so he assumed they didn't cause her any pain.

"Alright, I'm all done with your check up," Roy proclaimed, after he had finished thoroughly examining the soles of her feet. "It appears you are more or less in perfect condition, Miss Hawkeye." His tone was playful, but underneath it all he was genuinely relieved she was unharmed.

"Since when did you decide to be a doctor?" she retorted, slipping her shirt back on. "I did tell you I was fine, sir."

"Since the patient was you," he said jokingly, though he was dead serious. He felt the hospital bed rise slightly as she sat up. Hawkeye said nothing, but Roy was content when he felt her kiss him softly on the forehead before returning to her own bed.

"Good night, sir. You should get some rest." He shifted himself back to a comfortable sleeping position as she continued talking. "We need to start on rebuilding this nation as soon as possible. And while neither of us have sustained any serious injuries, I can't say the same for our country."

Trust Hawkeye to remain focused on the big picture at all times. And here he was allowing himself a little distraction. "I know. There's been so much damage, but we'll just have to do what we can to atone for all the mistakes of the past. We may not be able to erase them completely, but…" He gently fingered his side, where the skin was still rough and damaged compared to the surrounding areas. "We can hope that in the end, all that's left is a scar."

"Indeed, sir," she replied, bed creaking as she assumably turned to face him. She paused for a moment. "Also, when we have the time, I'd like to confirm that _you_ have not acquired any more scars."

 _What was that about always being on task?_

"Dammit, Hawkeye."


	3. Chapter 3

**Wrapped up in Paperwork**

 _Riza thought she knew every one of Roy's codes. But not this one._

* * *

It wasn't unusual for the Colonel to leave a mountain of paperwork on his desk at the end of the day. The man really couldn't stay on task. Riza thought upon this as she looked at the mountain of papers that now sat, instead, on her dining table. Sighing, she pulled out a chair and sat down, grabbing a pen as she started skimming the page on top. God knew how often she ended up "helping" the Colonel with his paperwork. She had brought them home with her in hopes of picking up the slack in the office on her day off. She supposed this fact should have bothered her—who wanted to be working on their day off?—but assisting Roy Mustang had always been her joy.

Well, most of the time.

What could she say? She loved the man. Sure he was useless in the rain, napped when he should have been working, had some of the worst pick-up lines she had ever heard—but underneath it all, he had the biggest heart of any man she knew. He was the only person she'd be willing to follow to hell. And, when he _wasn't_ being an idiot, he was genuinely—

Her thoughts were interrupted as she came across a rather crumpled piece of paper amidst the otherwise well-kept sheets. Smoothing it out, Riza raised her eyebrows as she noticed what _appeared_ to be a drawing of Black Hayate (it could've been any old dog, really) in the top corner. The rest of the page was covered in Roy's messy scrawl—it was barely legible, but she'd gotten used to it over the years and had no trouble deciphering it.

It appeared to be a…song? Riza stared blankly at the paper trying to make sense of the words. "Snap", "spark", "flame alchemist"—it could have been coded, but after comparing it to every code she and Roy had ever developed, she determined that was not the case. Or perhaps…it was a _new_ code? One he had just developed? She huffed in annoyance at the thought that he hadn't shared it with her. And why hadn't he reduced it to ashes? He was usually good about destroying evidence—what if one of the higher-ranking officers had found it, slipped in with the rest of his paperwork? She was going to have to talk to him about his carelessness.

She marched over to the telephone, more irritated than she probably should have been. Honestly, she knew she should expect this sort of thing to happen more often. It was Roy. Times like these made her feel less bad about calling him "useless" to his face.

As she waited for the dispatcher to connect her to Roy's line, Riza tapped her food impatiently. The Colonel usually picked up after the first ring. After all, he was always looking for just about any excuse NOT to work on his—

 _Oh snap, snap! Spark, spark!_

 _It's time to light up the diggy-diggy-dark!_

…Wait a minute, that sounded like—

 _I'm the Flame Alchemist and I'm gonna be Fuhrer_

 _My beats are hot and my rhymes are purer!_

She stretched the telephone cord to the table, grabbing the crumpled paper and rereading its contents.

 _I like the ladies in the miniskirts_

 _I'll be posing in the mirror without my fancy shirts_

She sighed. Really? _THIS_ was what Roy Mustang had been up to all this time? "That. Idiot."

 _I'm gonna set your heart on fire, whoosh, whoosh!_

 _And you know my heart burns bright too! Kaboom, kaboom!_

 _My firepower tonight is feeling just right_ —

"Why hello, Lieutenant! Can't say I was expecting to get a call from you today. Enjoying your day off?" His voice was as cheery as ever.

She smiled deviously. "Hello, Colonel. As a matter of fact, I was thinking of dropping by the office later today. There is something I would like to…discuss with you."

"Oh, really now? Is this something of pressing importance?"

"You could say that…." She replied, choosing her words carefully. "I thought perhaps you could answer a few questions I have on the subject of music. Specifically, rap."

"Uh, rap? Lieutenant, why would you ask something like—"

"By the way, Colonel, I _really_ enjoyed the hold music you set up for your line," She paused, hoping he would catch on. "It was…enlightening."

"…oh. wait! WAIT, HAWKEYE! I CAN EXPLAIN—"

"I'll be there shortly, sir." She hung up the phone before he could finish.

* * *

Back at Central Headquarters, Roy laughed nervously as he addressed the rest of his team.

"If I decide to head out a bit early today, do you guys mind covering for me?"


End file.
